


fortunes of a dark star

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: The Grey Warden's Song [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blind Character, Disabled Character, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn Romance, Tamlen Lives, Trans Character, Transgender, Transgender Warden - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8319544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: Blood magic.  A forbidden evil never to be attempted.  When Warden Mahariel uses this magic in Redcliffe, she fears doing so will destroy the fragile bonds she's built with her friends.It's the past, repeating itself.  Her family really is cursed.  But it doesn't matter.  She will always do what is right, what is necessary, even at the cost of herself.  Alistair doesn't understand... until he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Racain Mahariel can see sort've. The story explains it.

They all blamed her with their eyes.

It was the outcome they’d been waiting for, for years; the thought they’d always carried in their hearts, whenever they’d seen Tamlen with her,  The inevitable end to a generation cursed.  She was doomed to darkness, and anyone in her life would fall to the same fate.  They all said it, all believed it.

 _You did this_.

Nevermind that she’d tried to turn them back, nevermind that she did all she could to save her friend, nevermind that no one in the world meant more to her than Tam -

But none of that mattered anymore. The clan didn’t matter anymore. She was leaving, never to return, and they would all be happier without her.

“Are you ready?” The Warden - Duncan, it was - turned to her, eyes stern and cool. Racain hesitated but a moment.

“Yes,” She muttered finally, hovering at the edge of camp.  She could still hear the crackling of fires, the way the wind rippled through the aravel silks.  The voices and language of her people, echoing in mourning.  Voices she would never hear again.

“I am ready,” She said.

Together, they strode the path through the woods, through the crowd gathered to see her off. Racain couldn’t help but think they were only there to be sure she left, to have their fill of glaring knives at her before she disappeared.  Perhaps it was overzealous, perhaps it was petty, but she ached with pain and tears unshed and there seemed to be no more goodwill in the world.

“ _Da’len_ ,”

Ashalle. There was one her eyes would water for. She’d never been much of a mother to her, but she’d been a friend. Tears were in her own eyes as she approached, hands clasped together and outstretched.

“This - it is yours. Your fathers.” She spoke quietly. She stretched out Racain's hand and into it she placed a pendant. “I meant to give it to you, at the right time, - well, I suppose that is now.”

She glanced upon it, and saw shimmering in her hand a glass orb with a red aura, magic emanating from the liquid trapped within. Her breath caught in her throat.  "This is..."

Ashalle nodded as she spoke.  "From his own hand.  His own heart.  He feared... well, you can imagine why he might have made this.  It is but an heirloom now."

“Thank you,” She whispered dryly. Hand closed around it, Racain turned to go without another word.

_Father... is this what you would have wanted for me?_

She paused for Merrill, a rare friend among distant relations, and gave her a soft smile. She looked so sad. It warmed her heart to think that she might be missed, if but a little.

Keeper Marethari stood at the end, a regal sentinel to her departure. They had been as close as a Keeper and a prospective first had been. She trained her in all the magical arts, acted as a mentor and guide, one that would be sorely missed.

Racain inclined her head in respect and in honor of all she’d given her, then turned her gaze to her new mentor, to the shemlen who would take her away from all this.

Duncan said nothing; but the feeling in the air was tense, a clear enough message. It was time to leave.

They ascended the stairs together, each step seeming heavier and harder to take. There had been so many times in her life she’d thought of leaving the clan, yet now...

She hesitated on the last step.

It would only hurt to look back; to see one last time what she was losing, to know who she wouldn’t see there. Tamlen, gone forever. _All my fault._

For just a moment, she turned his head, halfway - then froze. Her gaze hardened. With a final sigh, Racain Mahariel turned her gaze back to the Grey Warden, strode up the steps, and left the company of Clan Sabrae forever.

* * *

 

**Two Weeks Later**

Leaving home and joining the Grey Wardens, Racain had not really known what to expect. She’d never spent any time in human cities, and rarely left the woodland her clan so often called home. But, if she’d been expecting anything at all, what she got would have been at the very bottom of that list.

 _This must be what Hahren Paivel felt like with me_ , Racain thought to herself with a frown. _As if I am a shepherd herding a bunch of children!_

The “children” were her... followers? Or perhaps a better word was ‘tagalongs’, as they seemed to drift in and cling to her from the first meeting, with barely a how do you do. It started with Alistair, then Morrigan, and quickly went downhill from there as they attracted every blood-soaked bard and randy Antivan assassin around. They all barely got along and it often felt like Racain was just there to stop them from killing each other, but in a way it was... comforting. It felt almost like home.

“So, Racain,” Alistair’s voice pulled him out of her thoughts. She was quite fond of his fellow Warden; a strange and socially awkward shem he might be, but he was kind and had a good heart. And Racain couldn’t help but smile at how he butchered her name, adding his harsh human tones and gritting out _Rack-ane_. She didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“It’s Rah-ken.” Morrigan, of course, felt no such dilemma.

The man flushed scarlet. “Ah, sorry,”

“No, no, it is fine,” Racain sent a stern glare Morrigan’s way, and the woman just smirked. _This is, what do the shems say? Pulling pigtails. Though what a pig has to do with it, I don't know._

“Uh, anyway,” Alistair cleared his throat. “I was thinking, now that we’ve got a sizable group here and we’ve got a good lead on Loghain’s men, we should decide what to do next.”

Racain nodded. “Have you some thoughts?”

“A few, yes, but I was more wondering -”

“He wants you to think for him,” Morrigan commented snidely. “Tis easier than straining himself.”

The scarlet flush grew darker and an angry expression came over him, but before Alistair could say anything, Racain held up a hand. “You,” She pointed at Morrigan, “Stop provoking him. You,” Then at Alistair. “Ignore her.”

“ _Parshaara_ ,” Sten spat suddenly. “We are wasting time. Loghain is your enemy, yes? Let us find him and kill him.”

“Wonderful plan,” Zevran replied with a hard chuckle. “Save for the part where we are a small ragged band of heroes, and he has an army, a fortress, is forewarned of our coming -”

“Then what do you suggest, elf?”

“I suggest you don’t call me ‘elf’, again, Qunari.”

“Enough!” Racain brought all talk to a standstill with a firm word and a gesture. Sighing, she rubbed her temples. “Cease bickering like pups over a piece of meat!” An awkward silence took over then, with a tint of shame on the air and the faces of her team.

“These treaties you have,” Leliana began, taking a seat by the fire. “Who are they for?”

“There's one for the Circle Mages,” Alistair replied to her. “We could start there. Or the dwarves, that would be Orzammar. I have no idea where we’d find the Dalish, though.”

“That one is easy,” Racain replied. “My people travel in cycles. This time of year, Clan Reserel will be in the Brecilian Forest.”

“Then there’s Redcliffe.” The other Warden added. “I still think Arl Eamon would help us.”

Silence fell again. These were their options, and a choice had to be made. Where to go? And the weight fell on her shoulders. Racain did not have to have physical sight to feel their steady gazes burning into her.

It was enough to twist her stomach into knots and send bile up her throat.

“I...” Frowning, Racain lowered her head. How in the hell was she supposed to decide? On a whim, she blurted out, “Where are we closest to?”

“Redcliffe, I suppose.”

Redcliffe it was, then. The group dispersed at that, each drifting to their own corners of the camp. Morrigan preferred a haunt as far away as possible, better to pretend the rest of them didn’t exist. Leliana tended to wander, reading or humming to herself, while Sten pointedly stood on self-appointed guard duty, ignoring everyone. Where Zevran went, Racain wasn’t always sure. Sometimes he just seemed to disappear, only to reappear beside her an hour later at the perfect moment to interject with a randy joke.

Alistair tended to stay by the fire, close to camp, close to her. As the others drifted away, he remained, seated at her side, leaning back on one arm as he stared off into the flames.

“Sorry about all that,” The man huffed after a moment.

“It’s not your fault.” She replied, though she smiled at his sentiment. “It was always to be rough - we are not all friends here.”

“Right.” Alistair sighed. “We’re friends, though?”

Her heart lifted and she almost giggled at his tone. “Yes, of course.”

“Ah, well, good,” He cleared his throat. “I just - wasn’t sure, since we haven’t known each other all that long, and well, you didn’t really ask to be here, did you?” His look darkened. “Duncan told me about... how you joined.”

Racain stiffened, but tried not to show her discomfort on her face. “I see.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tamlen’s face appeared in her mind, grinning and irreverent. “Thank you.” Then she turned to him. “I am sorry for you, as well.”

Eyes askance, he nodded. “Thanks.”

For a moment they were quiet, at peace with the lull, sitting in the warmth of the firelight and basking.

“I was wondering...” The elder began after a time, moving to recline with his palms pressed against the ground behind him. “Would you mind if I asked you some questions about - um - you? I mean, if it’s not invasive or rude or anything -”

“Please do.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at his nervousness. “If it is invasive or rude I will be sure to tell you with a good whap on the head.”

He chuckled, too. “I would let you in that case.” He turned towards her; she could see the outline of his face shifting in the air, his silhouette moving slightly. “Well, um - it’s just, your eyes. You told me that you could see, some... would you mind explaining it a bit more?”

“You want to know what they are.”

Racain’s eyes were a pale, faded blue, pulsing with light, the black pupil clouded over. Wherever she looked, her gaze seemed off, unfocused. They shone like stars against the night sky upon the woman's dark skin.

“I’m blind, so to speak.” Racain explained. “I cannot see the physical. But magic, that I can see – the Fade, lyrium, spells. Also I can manipulate it to let me see other things, if I so choose.”

“Wow,” The man muttered. “So, what’s it like? What can you see right now? If that’s not too rude. Is that rude?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Am I hitting you?”

“Right. Not rude, then. Or you’re just being very indulgent with me.”

Racain grinned, but didn’t correct him. Her gaze turned away, half lidded and distant. “Well... I can see the fire, it’s bright green -”

“Green?”

“From Morrigan’s magic when she cast it. And... over there, I see Sten, from the glow in the rune on his blade. Morrigan, by the shimmer of her aura - all mages have those. And you,” She turned to him, “Are a dark, most empty space.”

“What, really?”

“Ex-templar.” She smiled. “You suck magic away. To me, you are like a black hole sucking in light.”

“So you see nothing of the land?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Most mages, I can see clearly. Their aura outlines their features, their expressions, even their eyes. Some untrained people have a little magic that gives them that, too; most times, I get by with the magic in the air and the ground, the enchantments spread about, that sort of thing. Then, of course, there’s dwarves and templars, who are just invisible.”

“Invisible.” Alistair snorted, turning away, clearly unhappy with that revelation.

“Sorry,” She grinned. “I mean, I can make you visible, for a little while. Shower you with fairy dust, and all that.” The woman giggled, wiggling her fingers as if she were spreading something over him.

“Really? Oh, right,” He replied. “You mentioned a spell.”

“Basically, I share my aura with you.”

“‘Share your aura’, hmm?” The both of them jumped at the third voice joining the conversation. “That’s a new way to put it.”

Frowning, Racain reached out to swat in Zevran’s general direction, and missed completely, not because she could not see him, but because the assassin was quite fast. “Why is it you choose these moments to appear?”

“It’s my calling, my dear. I cannot resist.”

“So much there is you cannot resist,” The other Warden mumbled grumpily, at turns embarrassed and irritated at the interruption.

“Why resist, when giving in is much more pleasurable?” Zevran murmured coyly, and by the way his voice moved, she could tell he was leaning over Alistair. “I could show you if you want?”

“I - no - that’s not - I mean -”

“Zevran, stop embarrassing the man.” Though she chided him she couldn’t help but smile. Children, she thought again. Yet, in its own way, it was nice, being a part of it.

_I just wish Tamlen could be here._

......

 

“If the Grey Warden recruiting poster mentioned ‘flaming undead army’,” Racain commented dryly with a swing of her staff, “I might have said, 'Duncan, thank you, but no.'"

“You and me both!” Alistair called back to her with a laugh. As he did, another dead soldier reared up at him, only to freeze in place with Racain’s spell. In the next instance, Alistair shattered it with a single swing.

Redcliffe was a mess. _What a way to start this career of mine_ , Racain had thought when they’d first arrived and she’d learned about royal bastards and secret mages and poisonings and armies of undead.  The team's very first quest together, their first attempt to make something of the treaties, and this is what they come upon. _By the Creators, what have I become involved in?_

For hours into the night they struggled against the onslaught, and it was like nothing she had ever been a part of. Racain had fought battles; she’d protected the clan from bandits, fought off the stray demon or two, but nothing like this. This was war - war against an army that did not tire, did not suffer, and did not end.

Sweat pouring down her brow, Racain moved wearily, dodged a swipe from a skeleton before knocking it over with her staff. She was running low on energy, on potions, on everything, her vision blurring and muscles trembling with every movement.

“Warden!”

One of the knights, calling to her. She spun round towards him. He waved through the air, down the hill, back towards the Chantry. “They’re coming from the lake! We need to get down there!”

She gave a weary nod, started to move after him -

“ _Warden_!”

She went stiff at the cry, then wheeled around when she finally sensed the magic at her back. Her power was so low she almost didn’t feel the creeping tremble of necromancy behind her, but it was already too late. The sword was mid-air, sweeping down towards her -

CLANG. It met with another blade midair, before the skeleton was sliced in two by a second blade, in Zevran’s other hand. She knew it was him by the glow of his twin daggers, faint yet still visible even with her weakened state. “Come on!” He grabbed her wrist then, tugging her along until she began running alongside him. She threw a few fire blasts behind her, what she could manage, as they made their way to the center of the town.

“Here,” Then, he slipped her something, a bottle, and she took it and drank without thought. Entirely without thought - and soon enough the world brightened and her fingers trembled with power as lyrium flooded her veins.

Then, grinning, she turned her attention to the hordes of undead. There was still a battle to be won, after all.

* * *

 

In the wee hours of the morning, the Chantry was full to bursting with the survivors of the night. More than she’d hope for, but never enough. Sitting slouched against a column in a far corner, Racain watched the humans come and go with tired, distant eyes.

The battle was won, but the war was not over. She knew that. Even beyond Redcliffe, the war was far from over. Finishing this would not end the fighting, the struggling.  There was still Loghain, still so many treaties.  The thought was exhausting, all the way to her quaking bones.  Eyes drifting closed, she fought the dark thoughts rising within her, but it was hard to debate them with aches and pains racing through her, particularly through a bad cut on her arm, bandaged only by the press of her coat, torn and wrapped around it.

“I don’t like it.”

Racain glanced up as Alistair slowly and stiffly took a seat beside her. “Like what?”

“Him.” He seemed to be indicating someone.

“Him, who?” She huffed. “If you are pointing or something, I cannot see it. Magic eyeball spell is all done for today.”

“Oh, sorry. I meant Zevran.” The man explained. “He saved your life.”

“Yes. And... you don't like this?"

“I don’t trust him!” Alistair insisted. “He was right there, at the right time, with just the right potion you needed, with his little quips and his saucy jokes, and he could’ve poisoned you right then.”

"If that was his plan it would have been much simpler to let the skeleton skewer me, instead.  He is not going to kill me!"

“Yet. He's... biding his time.”

The woman sighed. This was a conversation they’d gone over multiple times since she’d spared Zevran’s life almost two week ago. It was true, accepting him into the team was risky, yet... Racain found she couldn’t help it. The man had asked for mercy, she couldn’t just cut him down. And...

 _He’s the only other elf we got._ She would risk a lot, poisoning included, to not be alone surrounded by shemlen in a world she didn’t know. Zevran was an elf - and he did know the world, and knew it well.

“We need him.” She insisted quietly. “I need him. So, we will just keep a good eye on him, okay?  Doubly so for you.  Your eyes don't run out.” Then, needing to lighten the mood, she smirked. “Your majesty.”

“Oh, I knew I was going to regret telling you that.”

She giggled. “Well, to be fair, I am some what of a ‘noble’ myself.”

“Really? I didn’t think the Dalish had anything like that.”

“We don’t.” She clarified. “But my father was the Keeper before our current Keeper. As a mage, I was chosen to train as a first.  I was not Marethari's successor, but I would succeed her successor."

“So... essentially, you were third in line for the throne?”

“Sort’ve.” She smiled. “See? You are not so special."

At that he laughed. “Oh, thank you, you’ve put me at ease.” Then he glanced down. “Has anyone taken a look at that?”

She figured he meant her wound. “No, but I am fine. When my mana is restored, I will take care of it.”

“They have plenty of supplies right now -”

“Supplies they should use on the townsfolk, not me.” Racain insisted.

Just then, something landed in her lap with a soft thud. “You are our leader.” Sten’s stern voice met her ears. “You must have your strength. Heal, and then sleep.”

“Yes, mother,” She gripped, but went ahead and listened. Sten wouldn’t give up until she did, she knew that, already.

* * *

She got maybe an hour, hour an a half of sleep before the sun rose. The town had a little celebration in front of the chantry, where Racain stood on wobbly legs accepting their praise. It felt like the sun was punching her in the face, but she did her best to smile and act like standing on a stage in front of hundreds of shems didn’t terrify her.

_If you could see me now, Tam._

Of course, it was far from over. They had to take the castle, and Bann Teagan luckily had some ideas about that; ideas that eventually led to him being a fucking idiot and entering by himself, with the Warden and company following behind.

“On a scale of bad idea,” The woman grumbled, lifting her staff ahead of them. "This plan is the worst of them.  The baddest of bad ideas."  The end was glowing a bright blue, so that magic would spread across the hall and guide her way - and physical light would lead her allies.

If only she knew then how much worse it would get.

 

 

* * *

 

“You can’t be serious.” All the color drained from Alistair’s face. “Blood magic isn’t an option!”

“And killing a child is?” The woman sighed. Weariness had settled on her like a cloak, a grey raiment weighing her down.

“There...” Panic tainted his tone. “There has to be another way. We could - we could go to the Circle - “

“And how long would it take?” She said it calmly, evenly, as patiently as she could. “Days? A week? And in the meanwhile, each night, the undead come, and they kill more. How many will die while we leave?  And who is to say, the Circle can come at once?  What if they have troubles of their own?  And we are left to return, empty handed, or to tarry longer?"

“I...” Voice fading, Alistair let his hand drop. “This can’t be the solution.  You can’t do this!”

The calm shattered. Racain spun round, blood rushing to her face, twisted into a grimace. “And what else should I do? Let hundreds of people die, as I go get help for one woman and her child? Do I kill the child, robbing him of his life for one foolish young mistake?"   _Make the 'proper' choice to save our friendship, or do what I believe is best_?   "What would you have me do?”

“Not this!” Alistair shouted back, his own face brick red. “Anything but this!”

She could see him, a little.  Her magic filled the room during the earlier battles.  He's furious.  Shoulders tense, fists clenched, horror in his face.  Still, so much of him is dark.  She can't see his face.  For once, she's glad.  She doesn't want to see hate in his eyes, the way she has seen it in others all her life.

_It's your fault._

Racain narrowed her eyes, trying to calm herself. “In the end, it is not our decision.” She turned, facing Isolde again. The woman looked so somber, so broken. “It’s yours, my lady. Your son’s life, or - “

“Me.” She didn’t even wait. “Take me, please. Save my son.”

Alistair fell back against the far wall, sliding down into a chair, head falling forward.  The sounds hit her like thunder, but she would not show it.  She ignored him. She couldn’t be concerned for him, not now. Glancing at Jowan, she nodded. “Prepare the ritual.”

He hesitated. “And who will...?”

“I’ll enter the Beyond.” She told him. Jowan gave a slight bow, then turned away, and the Warden set all her attention on the woman standing before her.

She hadn’t much liked Isolde, at first. Alistair’s portrayal of her had colored her opinion, and the woman’s distaste for them had done nothing to help. But this wasn’t the way she’d wanted to fix this. She wouldn’t wish this on anyone.  For a moment, she hesitated, before reaching out and laying a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this? The ritual will cost your life.”

“I am sure.” Isolde smile. “You would understand, if you had a child. Nothing is more important than his life - not even mine.”

Fighting tears, Racain gave a weak smile. “We, uh -” She wiped at her eyes. “We have a little time. You should - write something. For him.” Isolde looked her over. “He is going to ask questions one day. You should tell him why you did this, that it’s not his fault, - everything you’d ever want to tell him, so that even when you’re gone... he will know.”

Once again, her hand drifted upwards, to the pendant around her neck.

Isolde examined her for a moment, before giving a careful nod. “You’re right. I will.” Then she turned, but hesitated just a moment. “Thank you.”

Racain watched her go, self-loathing pounding at her rib cage, gripping the pendant so hard it hurt.

* * *

 

Camp was tense and quiet that night.

It hurt.  The choking silence burned like a rash all over, until all Racain wanted to do was scream.  She wouldn't, though.  There was no reason for it.  The mission was done, the boy lived, and they were back where they started: no help, only more mysteries, more problems.  Arl Eamon sick, likely never to wake, his one hope a distant legend, a fool's hope.

It was all for nothing.

Alistair wasn't by the fire.  Racain wasn't sure where he was.  Not sure where Zevran was.  Leliana was praying, out by the edges of camp.  Sten standing guard, like always.  Morrigan was far away, like always.

Racain was at the fire, alone.

Her hands trembled as she gripped her knees.  It's always like this.  It's always her.  Her fault.  Her sins.  Even before she was born, she as a sin, cursed, born beneath a dark star.

Footsteps came up behind her.  Heavy, with the clink of arm, but no so sturdy to be Qunari.  Alistair.  Racain barely held in her flinch.

The man stood silently beside her.  "I understand your reasoning."  He started.  "I just... I can't believe it happened.  I can't believe you did it."  Racain's heart pounded, until Alistair sat next to her.  "I couldn't have."

"You knew her.  You were compromised."

"Even if I didn't.  I don't think I could have."  Alistair shuffled, getting comfortable.  "I wonder if Morrigan isn't right about me.  You saved Redcliffe, you made the tough choices and saved so many lives.  I would have left to look for help, anything besides killing her, and it would have gotten more people killed."

"Compassion is not bad."  Racain's heart felt lighter, but still fluttered nervously, anxious and tense.  "You are a good man Alistair.  I would question if you were not upset about the ritual.  I... have a different perspective.  I saw what could be done to save them, and I knew it had to be that way."

Alistair shifted again.  "What do you mean by perspective?  Being Dalish?"

She shrugged, a little.  "Not really.  We Dalish, for us blood magic is bad as well.  Not as a class of magic, but because it draws too much attention.  Humans, templars, they will kill a blood mage on sight.  A whole clan, even.  It is a great risk.  So anyone who practices it is an outcast, for endangering the clan."

"Is that what happened to you?"  

She shook her head.  "... no."  Racain hesitated, shifting into a crossed-legged position.  "But I suppose you must have put it together.  That I am different among my people."

"It's always been clear you are different - in the best way."  

"I've heard tales," A third voice came from ahead of them and Racain about jumped.  Morrigan stood, leaning on her staff, opposite them by the fire.  In fact, everyone was gathered, nearer to the flames, close enough to hear.

Mouth dry, Racain spook. "Stories?"

"Among the wild folk, the Avvar."  Morrigan continued.  "They interact more with the Dalish; they share the same lands, tell similar tales.  Many years ago a story began to be told, of the White Eyed Elf."

Racain stiffened.  "What was this tale?"  It could not be... was her life this infamous?

Morrigan moved to sit.  "A clan elder fell in love with a woman from another clan.  The match was not favored.  They were not permitted to marry, and were forced to meet in secret, when their clans were close enough, hidden dalliances in the dark places of the world.  They loved one another deeply, and the woman was soon with child.  Then, one night they met, bandits came upon them.  Though defeated, they wounded them gravely.  Neither could make the return home.  To save his wife and child, the man - a mage - cast a spell of life, which took his own."

"The clan which lost their Leader were furious - they cursed the woman, for leading him astray.  She mourned her lost lover yet remained with the people long enough to bear his child.  Then, she fled from their curses and hate.  The child abandoned was born with pure white hair, and bright white eyes, blind, yet with more magic than any elf child seen before or since."

Racain's breath caught in her throat.

"Is that you?"  Alistair sounded breathless too.  "Maker... did that really happen?"

A trembling hand lifted to her necklace.  "Yes."  She managed. It's almost easier, having had someone else tell it.  "My father... he was our Keeper.  When mother survived and he did not... it caused so much tension.  Our family was banished.  The children were allowed to stay.  Myself, and my cousin, in my mother's clan.  The adults were seen as culpable, for having known of their actions, and not stopped them."

"That's terrible," Leliana gasped mournfully.  "I am so sorry."

Racain manages a small smile.  "I know the dangers of blood magic - it is a temptation.  Not, for me, because of the power - because of the capabilities.  You can act as Gods.  You can heal, and revive.  My father could not stand to lose his wife, and it cost him his life, and my family their whole world.  Yet... I also understand."

"Like Isolde said," To her surprise, Alistair spoke up.  "Any parent would do that, for their child.  And their partner."

Slowly, Racain nodded.  "Yes.  Some times... it is understandable, to use that power, to play God.  But I swear to all of you," She insisted, turning her head round.  "I will not do so again, not lightly."

"It's alright."  Zevran, swinging one of his blades round idly.  "I am hardly afraid that you of all people will suddenly let power go to your head."

"Yes," Morrigan chuckled.  "Given anytime we have any coin or equipment or goods to spare, she throws it to the nearest needy folk."

"Hard to be power hungry when you give everything away."

"Your clan is foolish."  Sten chimed in for the first time.  "They have lost greatly with you.  You have lost nothing from them."

Something warm spreads through her, curling around her anxious heart, a comforting blanket.  "Thank you," She manages wetly.  "All of you.  I... do not know what to say."

"We could have sex, now."  Zevran offered.  "Perfect time for an orgy!"

The group groaned and complained as one - but the tense awkwardness was broken.  Racain took a moment to compose herself, and by the time eyes were on her again, she was no longer crying.  The group drifted apart, Sten to his station, Morrigan to her corner, Leliana wandering once again.  But Alistair, and to her surprise, Zevran, both remained.

"Alas," The elf sighed, taking a seat.  "Thwarted again."

"Yes." Alistair's voice was pointed and sharp.  "And you will be thwarted, whenever you try anything.  At all."

"My, Alistair," Zevran's voice was all honey.  "Are you that eager to tame me?"

"I - what?"

"Enough," Laughing despite herself, Racain shook her head.  "For once, let us have peace.  No more flirting, no more suspicion, for one night."  The two gave begrudging agreement, and Racain managed another smile.

Her heart was light, at peace.  For the first time in a long time, she felt truly at peace.

 _Can you see, Tamlen?_  She thought, head falling back, gaze lifting to the stars.  She could not see them, but Tamlen had described them to her often enough.

_Sharp and bright and beautiful, even though everything around them is pitch black._

_Sounds familiar_ , She'd laughed.   _Like my magic_.

 _Just like it_ , Tamlen had replied.   _Here, cast a bunch of spells like this - spheres, and spread them out - the background is dark, right?_  He'd held her and directed her hands, until a shower of sparkles spread across the blackness of her sight, shimmering the blue hue of her aura.

 _You see it?_  He'd asked, his chest to her back. _All that brilliant light, outshining the dark?_

 _It's beautiful._  She'd been taken aback, for once truly envious that she could not see this marvel but in metaphor.  

There was a time she'd felt the clan had been right.  That she had been born beneath a dark star.  That she had been cursed - cursed to darkness, to never see the beautiful stars overhead, to never live in peace.  Staring skyward, she imagined those stars, drew comfort from those with her, those who knew her, who did not blame her, or curse her or hate her.

She smiled, and stared at the pitch black sky.

_Do not worry, Tamlen.  My stars are not so dark, anymore._

 


End file.
